


Laudanum and Revolutionaries

by yet_intrepid



Category: Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Gen, tw: medicinal drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-11
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-04 23:06:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/716105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yet_intrepid/pseuds/yet_intrepid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras is injured. Combeferre gives him laudanum and ends up somewhat surprised at the results.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laudanum and Revolutionaries

“But Com’ferre,” Enjolras slurred, trying to rise from his pillow, “Danton’s personally extra—extrav—his…” He looked up desperately, asking for the word, demanding to know why his mind would not function.

“His extravagant lifestyle?” filled in Combeferre, while urging his friend to lie down again. “While claiming to be more understanding of the people’s way of thought than was Robespierre or any of the other representatives?” Enjolras had been trying to make this point for the last fifteen minutes, thanks to the laudanum that Combeferre had been obliged to give him. After a very simple misunderstanding in the streets two days ago, Enjolras had been taken in to the police depot and spent a night there in the company of some very rough cellmates, who had picked a fight with him. Eventually Enjolras had been forced to defend himself and the gendarmes broke them up with batons, caring little who the aggressors had been. The fight in the cell had added complications to the mistaken charge on which he had been brought in, and his questioning had turned towards an interrogation.

By the time it was cleared up mid-afternoon and Combeferre received a note to come pay bail, he had found a badly bruised Enjolras dazed from a head injury. And painkillers were the only way to keep him abed—he was an intolerable patient otherwise, always too sure of his own strength.

“…hypocrisy,” Enjolras finished with difficulty.

“Yes, I understand,” Combeferre reassured him.

Enjolras still looked urgent, his face flushed as he tossed and turned. “Once Danton—tried to tell Rob’spierre—”

“Shh,” Combeferre said gently. “I understand. We will talk about this when you feel better.”

“—tried to tell him, dis-dain-f’lly, that Desmoulins had a ‘secret vice.’ Danton and Desmoulins, they were friends, and it was not one relevant to the Republic!” He was sweating, forcing out the words despite his disordered mind and shortness of breath. “Danton had no right!”

“No, he had not.” One did not simply get Enjolras to cease talking about the Republic, Combeferre reflected, even if laudanum did cause him to focus more on the personal lives of the giants of ’93, like how Danton should not have gossiped about Camille Desmoulins. “Here, take some water.”

Enjolras did so shakily as Combeferre held the cup for him, smoothing back his hair and examining the swollen bruise on his cheekbone. It was painful to see his friend out of his mind with drugs, but to watch him biting his inner cheek in determination as he did when pain was very bad and insisting that he be allowed out of bed to work, when there was something to be done to give relief, was more painful still. He did hope, however, for the development of a better painkiller as soon as possible.

After drinking deeply of the cool water Combeferre gave him, Enjolras fell back on the pillow in sudden exhaustion. Combeferre felt a keen sense of relief—rest was just what he needed to speed the healing. The weary blue eyes drifted shut, but Combeferre was caught by surprise moments later when he heard a quiet laugh that could only be described as a giggle.

“Once,” Enjolras giggled softly, “Robespierre wrote a poem about fruit tarts.”

Combeferre stared at him, unsure of how to react, and Enjolras giggled himself to sleep.

Laudanum was certainly an odd drug, Combeferre finally recovered enough to think, and the textbooks never prepared you for seeing it in action.

**Author's Note:**

> (And yes, Enjolras is rambling factually here. Robespierre really did once write an ode to fruit tarts. Also one to handkerchiefs. It's probably a good thing he was a politician rather than a poet.)


End file.
